


Testing Redemption

by KiraLioden



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: But I don't know 'til I get there, Contains spoilers for Portal Stories: Mel, May have some Chelley later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraLioden/pseuds/KiraLioden
Summary: It's funny how a little change in events can impact everything after. And sometimes, it become just that much harder for everyone. But even if it's a bumpy road getting out, and more importantly, gaining her forgiveness, nothing's going to stand between Wheatley and redemption.Human!Wheatley, heavily includes Portal Stories: Mel, uh, bitsAlso, the warning is there juuuuust in case. I'm pretty sure I'm incapable of writing really graphic stuff.Scratch that, I think I very well can.





	1. Divergence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadasaMoriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadasaMoriarty/gifts).



She wasn't sure how long she was unconscious. It could've been only a few seconds, it could've been weeks. Her sense of time was screwed over a long time ago, from being in stasis and testing in the ever-constant environment. And she always had a nagging feeling she forgot something important. This time it was really strong, but she shook it off.

Anyway, the passage of time wouldn't have bothered her much anyway. She was alive, and that was what counted.

But she did not expect to wake up in an elevator. Nor did she expect _Her_ to say anything that could be called compassionate. 

"Oh thank God, you're alright."

But there it was. Even electrocution couldn't have felt as shocking as Her saying those words.

"You know," GLaDOS continued, "being Caroline taught me a valuable lesson. I thought you were my greatest enemy. When all along, you were my best friend."

She wanted to tell Her how much of a stretch that statement was, but for the one time she actually wanted to speak in front of GLaDOS, her throat failed her. All she managed to get out was a hoarse cough.

"A mute best friend," GLaDOS added dryly. "Still. That burst of emotion I felt that me an even more valuable lesson. Where Caroline lives in my brain."

 _"Caroline deleted,"_ the loudspeaker announced.

"Goodbye, Caroline." The massive robot leaned forward, Her golden optic flashing. "You know, deleting Caroline just now taught me a valuable lesson. The best solution to a problem is usually the easiest one. And I'll be honest. Killing you? Is hard." GLaDOS pulled back. "You know what my days used to be like? I just tested. Nobody murdered me. Or put me in a potato. Or fed me to birds. I had a pretty good life. And then you showed up. You dangerous, mute lunatic."

Oh yeah, it was totally her fault she awoke in that relaxation vault. Right.

"So you know what? You win. Just go."

The glass doors slid shut and the elevator began moving upwards.

"It's been fun, Chell. Don't come back."

* * *

GLaDOS watched the elevator rise out of view. A little bit in Her felt sad to see Chell go, but She squashed the feeling. If she wanted her freedom so bad, let her take it and never come back. It would be so much easier for Her.

And besides, there was other things to attend to.

"Don't think I forgot about you, metal ball..."

A panel on the ceiling shifted, letting a screaming Wheatley plummet to the floor. The glass on his optic shattered on impact.

"I'm surprised she kept a grip on you. She could have let you fly into space."

With one of Her metal claws, She picked up the core. He shook, too terrified to speak.

"But she didn't," She continued. "And if she thought it worthwhile to save you, who am I to go against her? After all, I don't _betray friends_."

Wheatley whimpered.

"So instead of sending you to the incinerator where you belong, I've got another plan for you."

The claw tightened around Wheatley.

"I hope you like testing. Because that's what you'll be doing. For a very. Long. Time."

 


	2. Contemplation

Inwardly, Wheatley was actually fairly relieved. Being tossed into the incinerator was a near-certain trip of doom. Testing would give him the time to figure out a way to get out (kudos to the lady there).

But, then there was also the trouble of being a core.

A core would lack certain parts that were crucial to the test-solving ability. Which included fingers. And legs.

So, actually, he had no idea what he was going to do.

"Uh, yeah, about that testing... see, I don't have-"

GLaDOS glared down at him. "I do see the flaws in the idea. For example, you lack the brains to test. And there's nothing I can do about it. It would be easier to send you to Android Hell.

"Still, watching cooperative test robots isn't the same as having a human test. With robots, there is no death. No suspense. No interest. They merely do the job because they must. If they fail, they are rebuilt. With humans, they solve the puzzles in order to survive. And that is what makes it so much more fun to watch."

"Don't know where you're going with this, to be honest," he said. 

GLaDOS chuckled darkly, sending chills though his wires. "Let's just say I've got a little _experiment_ I want to try on you. But first... there is research to be done."

* * *

It was dark. Really, _really_ dark. And his flashlight had been broken one way or another, so he couldn't see anything of his "storage space," where She was making him stay while She did Her research or whatnot.

The storage space, an empty cubby next to the mental cores.

He could _literally_ hear their babbling through the wall. And some of those babbles were downright mad, if you asked him.

" _The cake is a lie, a lie, a lie... a lie lie lie... a lie lie lie..._ "

Much like that. Not quite as bad as the psychopathic core that kept growling like an animal (at least, that's what the database compared the sound to), but still so annoying.

He could only imagine what fate he barely slipped out of having. Android Hell, the place where bad cores go. Full of endless screaming. Probably more of the growly cores.

Just thinking about it made him shudder.

And he wasn't in there in Android Hell, just because of her! The lady! Even though he was a massive selfish monster who insulted her, and tried to kill her, and probably hurt her in other ways that might never recover...

Ohhhh. So that's why she was trying so hard to put Her back.

He was being just like _She_ was.

Except She wouldn't make the entire facility collapse on their heads. Or make her plummet into depths he couldn't even begin to imagine. Or make her do crap puzzles twice.

He could see why she'd rather have Her at the head of the place.

Wheatley groaned. He had to stop thinking about that, or he'd find so many reasons to feel like the biggest, most selfish jerk ever. Not that he wasn't already feeling like one. He'd bang his head against the walls if he had one. But he was a core. A core, a giant mechanical eyeball. No heads involved. And he didn't have the motor power to bang his core-ness into the wall, anyway.

So there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

Nothing except wait for whatever She had in store for him.

Maybe, though, while She worked, he'd figure something out. Some way to get to the lady. He had to thank her, and apologize, and... well, he hadn't thought of everything yet, but he wanted it to be good. Maybe she'd even forgive him. His chances were... pretty slim, to be fair, but...

He could hope.

 


	3. Transfer

It was boring in the storage space. So very boring. In fact, it was so boring, it made watching the smelly humans seem like the time of his life.

"Bloody brilliant job, mate, you've gone and done it again," he said to himself. "Insulting humans. Can't go without doing it. It's not like I can even smell or anything. Don't have a nose. Or the equivalent. Why would a core need to smell, anyway? Doesn't seem to have a point. Though I suppose smelling flowers would be nice. That's what people say right? Flowers smell nice. 

"Annnnd look at that. Now you're talking to yourself. Brilliant. See, Wheatley? You've gone mad. Did any of the other cores talk to themselves? Well, yes, there was Spacey, but he was weird from start-up. And then there was the Fact Core- oh, nevermind, cores are terrible examples. Did the lady talk to herself? No. No, she didn't."

Well, actually, for all he knew, she did. Just not when anyone was around, like he was. Right now.

He decided to ignore that possibility.

_"Blessed soul, you escaped from this hell, we sing you farewell, oh-"_

_"Oh, would you stop that? You've_ _been driving us all extra bonkers, with your songs."_

_"Hey, she isn't that bad."_

_"You just like her."_

_"I do not, you crap core."_

_"At least I don't like a turret wanna-be."_

As the defective cores on the other side of the wall began bickering, he sighed (or whatever was the robot equivalent). If Wheatley didn't know better (or if they hadn't mentioned it), he'd think that was a turret on the other side of the wall. Those things loved to sing, when they weren't shooting at one thing or another. Seemed to be pretty high on their favorites list, singing. Maybe after peppering humans with bullets.

Oh.

She got shot by the turrets, didn't she? All those squelch-y noises were the bullets hitting her. Oh, he felt like he was going to get sick, except robots couldn't get sick. And what was all that about her being selfish? She got shot, fell ridiculously high heights, lugged him around while navigating catwalks in the dark... and did she complain? No. Not a peep came out of her. Maybe she couldn't make sounds because of her brain damage, but the way she grit her teeth and pressed on with a... a steely determination meant she felt the pain. She could've curled up somewhere and hid, and he wouldn't have been able to stop her.

But she pressed on.

Maybe it was easier to handle that kind of pain than he thought.

It was something to think about, anyway.

* * *

A long time later (or maybe only a bit later, who knew?), he heard Her over the speakers. "I hope your time in the storage space was adequately mind-numbing. It seems it would help with the process that I'm about to commence."

The panels making up his ceiling opened up, allowing the metal claw to carry him. It ran along a railing over the maybe-bottomless pit. He tried not to look down, he really did, but he couldn't help himself.

She didn't seem to notice his screams of terror, and just continued with Her line of thoughts. "Orange and Blue have been very fruitful with their tests. And I found some documents made during the development of all cores. Do you know what I found in those files? A long list of all the moronic things you did while the scientists were building you. And down here, one scientist noted that prolonged exposure to you caused loss of brain cells. Just being near others, you made people dumber. And I've got the data to prove it. Test Subject #1, formerly #1498, took approximately 7.24% more time per test after meeting you."

He decided against commenting to that. Seeing he was suspended over a _giant pit of doom_ , making Her mad seemed a pretty terrible idea.

"So I have very low expectations for you. Maybe you won't survive the transfer. But those bodies are really just empty shells, so I'd be doing the world a favor by getting rid of them."

It was at this moment realization struck him, and despite his rare better judgement, he blurted out, "Wait, what? Transfer? Bodies? You can't- you don't mean- you want to stick me in-"

"-a human body," She finished. "So the moron finally came to a conclusion. Congratulations."

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

"Any other core would have guessed the moment I brought up human testing. But miracles can't be rushed, can they?"

His processors were whirling at speeds he never knew possible. "You can't upload a personality core into a human! It's- it's _impossible_! Why would anyone try do something like that?" 

"Science isn't about _why_ , it's about _why not_ ," She replied coldly. "Why _shouldn't_ I upload you into a human body? It would be amusing to watch you suffer, however short your testing career may prove to be."

"B-because! It's not possible. It can't be possible."

"We'll see about that."

The claw transferred to another rail over a catwalk, nearly jolting Wheatley out of its grip. The catwalk gave way to a proper hallway, and the claw kept on going. Then, abruptly, it stopped in front of a door.

"It's been a long time since anyone came to this wing," She said. "You should feel lucky. Most cores don't have the chance to return, even if they wanted to."

"What do you bloody mean, return?"

Instead getting an answer, the door swung open. The claw went through it, taking him to a room much like the one he found the lady in. Instead of a bed, though, there was a stasis pod. Wheatley couldn't see into it- its glass was fogged up- but it gave him chills down his metaphorical back.

A panel on the wall behind him hissed. He tried to look, but it was out of his view.

He then figured out what it was when the claw unceremoniously stuck him onto a plug-in.

_"Core mounted. Proceed with transfer?"_

"Yes," She said.

Then _it_ started. There was no way to explain what Wheatley was going through. All he knew is that he hated it, he wanted it to be over, it should stop, _why wasn't it stopping_ -

_"Subject resisting operation. Administering sedatives and/or forcing into sleep mode."_

He could hear Her chuckling before sleep mode activated and darkness engulfed him.


	4. Quandary

It hurt.

Everything bloody _hurt_.

And Wheatley couldn't do anything. He couldn't move. He couldn't open his shutter. He couldn't even _say_ anything. He was thrashing in his own mind, trying to wake up from this nightmare of an operation or whatever She was doing to him. 

Then the pain just... stopped.

He still felt tingly all over, but he no longer felt like screaming.

_"Transfer complete. Waking subject..."_

Air hissed. Light bombarded his optic, which shouldn't be possible because it was closed.

"Oh, you've done it, haven't you?" he moaned. Wheatley felt a little bubble of relief from hearing his own voice. But the fact he had to breathe felt so _wrong,_ yet it also felt so _natural_.

It was confusing.

_"Subject, please remove yourself from the stasis pod, or you will be forcefully ejected."_

Trouble there, though, he had no idea how to work a human body. Opening his eyes was similar enough to opening his optics, but anything else was a mystery. He tried to lift an arm and immediately gave up the attempt. How did humans live if their limbs were as heavy as lead? And the lady, she seemed to move so easily! She had been jumping and whipping her portal gun everywhere without any sign of fatigue. Or at least, he didn't think she seemed to get tired.

While he pondered the mysteries of how she could've done such a task, the pod tilted to the side. With a yelp, he hit the floor, entangled in blankets. The pillow fell on top of him.

_"Subject ejected."_

That was uncalled for.

"Look at you, lying on the floor," She said, voice dripping with contempt. "Do you have any idea how dirty those tiles are? No one's cleaned them for over twenty years."

That, admittedly, sounded very gross. But he wasn't doing it on purpose, it was just very hard to move limbs that didn't exist before, _thank you very much._

"After you're done rolling in filth, head to the elevator down the hall. It will take you to the first test chamber. Try not to contaminate anything on the way there."

As quickly as it came, Her message ended. The buzz of the lights filled the new silence, and it was rather eerie (how had he never realized how creepy it sounded?). He wanted to get that sound out of his head as soon as he could. And besides, the faster he was out of the room, the less She'd try to something extra to punish him.

With a great effort, Wheatley lifted his head up. The door was still open, which was good. He doubted he could've opened it, hacking or otherwise. There wasn't much of the hallway he could see from here. It didn't seem a pleasant idea, hauling himself along the floor.

He attempted to stand up by using the stasis pod as support. His hands, slow and sweating and fumbling, couldn't get a grip on the slippery sides and slid right off the glass. 

"Alright," he muttered to himself, "new plan. Crawling it is."

He feebly kicked off whatever bit of the blanket that still clung to him and began dragging himself along the floor. It was slow, and it used a lot of his energy, and the floor was _bloody cold_ , but it was progress. As he reached the doorframe, he felt a little thrill of pride. Dragging oneself a meter was an impressive feat, right? And the hallway, it couldn't be a few more meters long.

As he pulled his head past the door, though, Wheatley's heart fell. The hallway stretched on for much longer than he anticipated. It was hard to tell just how long it was from his position and state of vision (why did everything seem so blurred?), but it was clear that it was _much_ longer than a few yards. 

He stopped, exhausted physically from hauling himself the short distance and mentally from seeing the daunting distance ahead. Giving up seemed a nice option. He wouldn't have to move any further. He could just relax as much as he could under the circumstances- at least until She comes back with punishments to inflict on him. She could kill him much easier while he was in this state. And it didn't sound too bad- humans die really easily, don't they?

_She didn't._

_You threw bombs at her, trapped the stalemate, and she still survived. She went through so much more than you, and she came out alive. Now look at yourself. You're sniveling on a dirty floor. What have you done so far? What have you done that was so hard, you just gave up?_

_And you told yourself you'd find her so you can apologize. Aren't you going to fulfill that? Or is it just another empty statement you made?_

It really bothered him that his internal voice sounded like Her, but it was still right. He had a lady to find, and the journey was definitely going to take more than a hundred meters.

Wheatley began to painstakingly drag himself down the hallway.

* * *

It took a ridiculously long time, but after many breaks, he made it to the elevator. His arms felt heavy, yet limp. Like big lead noodles.

Yeah. That comparison seemed right.

Despite the accomplishment, he found he had a new problem; he had to stand up to use the elevator. It even had a sticker on its glass that said, "We are not responsible for any amputations caused from misuse. Please stand in elevator. Do not lie on the floor."

He had no idea what amputation was, but he had a feeling he didn't want to find out.

Wheatley reached for a bar-thing mounted on the wall. His fingers barely brushed against it before his arm gave out. 

"C'mon, Wheatley... you just need to scoot over, just a bit." If anything, talking to himself seemed weirder than before. But it was encouraging, so he kept at it. "Just a bit from- yes, that's right. You got it, Wheatley. You can do this."

He reached for the bar again and grabbed it. For a moment, he stared at his hand was a mix of shock and awe. He was holding onto something!

"That's... really good! Now, you got to..." With his other hand, he grabbed the bar. Having both hands there made his spine curve awkwardly, but it didn't seem to be harming him.

"Would you look at that!" he exclaimed to no one in particular.  "You've got both hands on! Now you just need to get onto your feet. Shouldn't be a problem- humans have to do it all the time, right? They get out of bed- well, actually, I've never seen one get out of bed, they were always in it, or out of it, or being a bloody _skeleton_ in the bed. But they have to be able to get up, right? They always started in bed..."

He pulled himself up a bit. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to more-or-less tuck his legs under him. With some more shifting, he was properly able to place his feet on the ground..

"This is bit like her crouching, isn't it? And all she did was bend her legs... so you just need to... straighten them... to stand."

Carefully, carefully, he straightened his legs, always using the bar as a support. Before he knew it, _bam_! He was standing!

It was exciting, to stand up for the first time. Yes, his feet were both pointed inward, which didn't seem at all normal. And he was wobbling.

But he was standing! With standing would come walking, and running, and jumping, and all those wonderful ways of movement humans had. But first- the elevator.

Wheatley lifted one hand off the bar. Without its support, he came dangerously close to falling, but he managed to keep himself steady. He shuffled a bit to face the entrance of the elevator and just lunged for it.

To his pleasant surprise, he hit the glass at the back of the elevator. Wheatley pressed his hands against the sides to stabilize himself.

The elevator doors slid shut behind him and began its descent.

"Wonderful," She sniped. "You made it. I wasn't aware anyone could blabber to himself so much. But now I know. I'll keep it in mind."

That killed his mood fairly quickly.


	5. Testing

The elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened with a hiss. He cautiously stepped out of the elevator, clinging to whatever he could for dear life. Climbing stairs out of the elevator landing proved to be a challenge (note: lifting legs was  _not_  a fun activity, especially if the step you were trying to put your foot on appears fuzzy-slash-blurred), but eventually, he made it into the chamber. It was a simple one, a single button and a weighted storage cube.

"Welcome," She said, "to Test Chamber #0. You will be doing these chambers for the rest of your short, sad life. Chances are, however, you will fail within nineteen tests. If it makes you feel any better, #0 is hardly even a test, so maybe you can complete it even with your limited cognitive ability."

"That's rude."

"Consider yourself lucky you weren't stuffed in a potato."

That was a very true statement. Wheatley felt his shoulders slump- not something he meant to do, so they must've done it by themselves, like they have a mind of their own. A purely terrifying thought.

It was, however, quickly overshadowed by a bigger terror- there was no way he could walk to the cube with the wall's support. A daunting task, even without a giant, malevolent AI breathing down his neck (metaphorically). But he mustered all the courage he had (it wasn't much), squeezed his eyes shut, and removed his hands from the wall.

After a moment of unsteadiness, he was still. Wheatley opened one eye, then the other.

He was standing, nice and proper. All by himself. No more wall-cuddling for Wheatley, nope, no-sir-ee. Victorious, he took a step-

-and fell face-first onto the floor.

He swore he could hear Her laughing at him.

* * *

Wheatley had gotten back on his feet. He was fairly sure- fairly, mind you- he could walk now, but he was also fairly sure any excessive walking would make him look like a complete moron. Brain-damaged, even.

"Couldn't even be a brain-damaged fox, I reckon," he mused. "Foxes- oh, foxes, those creatures- they're sly... and clever, really clever creatures- like her, she was very clever... me, if I was like locked in the Relaxation Center as long as she was, I'd be like a cow. Yeah. A brain damaged cow."

He paused, mulling over the depressing thought for a moment, before shaking it off. No point wasting time on that; Her patience with him could, very easily for that matter, wear thin.

And of all the ways to go, neurotoxin sounded _pretty_ bad.

His gaze flitted from the cube to the button and back again. Even though he was now able to walk by himself- what a triumph!- he wasn't sure how to move the storage cube, seeing he lacked a portal gun's anti-gravity field. But it had to possible. Surely She wouldn't give him an impossible test.

Well, actually, She probably _would_ , just so She could see him suffer.

But not on the first one, that would be too cruel. Even for Her.

_What would the lady have done, if she were here...?_

It was clear what she would do; she'd pick the cube up with the portal gun- it would have been easy for her, the gun had an anti-gravity field, plus she had that odd affinity for cubes. But as he continued to ponder over it, a revelation came over him. There was a few chambers between the not-docking-station and the portal gun, so she must've picked a few boxes up without it. 

He stepped over to the cube with a new sense of confidence. He knew how to solve it, he could do this-

-oh, _God,_ the cube was _heavy!_

And he thought lifting his own arms was bad. This was at least ten- no, a _hundred_ \- times worse.

Pained, he strained to get the cube off the floor. After scrabbling at the edges and a few choice swears when he dropped it on his unprotected foot, he finally managed to pick it up. He shuffled to the button, sure the rest of the puzzle would be a breeze.

His foot got caught of the edge of the button.

Unsurprisingly, he tripped. Unfortunately, he fell backwards, causing his foot hit the button and activate it.

His grip on the cube failed. It flew out of his hands and landed heavily on the floor. And it didn't stop. To his dismay, the box had just enough momentum to slide past the open door.

There was no way he could get it back now- the door would close if he moved his foot off the button, and though he seemed unnaturally long for a human, the distance was too much. He wasn't even sure he could lift the box again.

"Congratulations. You managed to fail the simplest puzzle in the world. The probability of you reaching the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device had dropped considerably.

"Another weighted storage cube will be sent. Do. Not. Fail."

A new cube fell to the floor with a metallic clang. 

Wheatley let out a groan and covered his face. 

* * *

The cube was on the button. The back of his neck felt unpleasantly damp, his muscles ached, and he could barely feel his fingers.

But the puzzle was finished. That was the most important part. For a moment, he basked in the success of a test-well-solved before heading to the next elevator. 

"You managed to claim the slowest completion time on record. The next slowest was an actual vegetable. I wonder what it says about you."

_Annnnd_ there went all the pleasure in that.

There was no doubt in his mind that She would continue to insult him, belittle him, trying to wear him down. That's what She did to her. Though she was exceptionally good at ignoring Her- so good, in fact, he would have thought her brain-damaged _and_ deaf if she hadn't shown a response to auditory cues. Most of the insults were shaken off with ease. There was only one that truly got a reaction out of her- and it was him that insulted her.

_"I DESPISE you. I LOATHE you. You arrogant, smugly quiet, awful, jumpsuited monster of a woman!"_

He cringed at the memory. He could practically see the expression on her face- he couldn't put it in words; it was some sort of _hurt_ , but more than that. Devastation? No, that wasn't it. The word was on the tip of his tongue-

The announcer voice jolted him out of his train of thought before he could figure it out.

_"We would like to inform you that the elevator should not be kept stationary for an extended amount of time, because it disrupts the vacuum tube flow and may cause ruptures in vital areas,"_ it said. _"If you had called for the elevator, please enter it now. Otherwise, please continue ignoring it, and we will remove it shortly. Note that the next elevator will take -FIVE- hours to arrive."_

Wheatley stepped into the elevator without another thought, and began his descent into the sequence of actual tests.


	6. Portals

The next chamber was uneventful- portals were called using a raised button, and then it was a just matter of call portal, grab the cube, move portal, place cube on button, move portal, exit. Simple stuff, really.

It was the next chamber that proved to have a problem- it lacked something vital to the test and everything after. A pedestal stood in the center of the room, clearly meant to hold the portal gun, but it was empty. He had led the lady to a very similar stand himself, so there was no mistaking it.

Wheatley glanced up at a camera. "Is- Is this meant to be a joke? Because I'm pretty sure it's not funny, even with your, er, _sadistic_ sense of humor, if you don't mind me saying." 

She made a disapproving humming noise. "The only portal gun I had for the humans was sucked into space. Because of you. So no. I really don't have a portal gun to give you."

"What- really? So am I supposed just stay here? Rot away like an apple left out too long? 

"Relax, moron. I found a prototype in an old facility incinerator. I guess someone tossed it in, unaware those incinerators would never be able to destroy _any_ sort of Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device. The prototype has a much higher probability of blowing up on you, but it should suffice."

A claw descended from the ceiling, and placed a yellow-orange device on the pedestal. Melted and charred stamps still clung to the portal gun, and some parts of the body were slightly blackened and dented.

Despite all that, it had a sort of charm to it.

Wheatley tentatively picked it up. To his surprise, the gun felt really nice in his hands- warm and welcoming, familiar even. It whirred to life, clicking and flashing as it started up before quieting to a steady hum.

He pointed the gun at the chamber wall and felt for the trigger. His fingers met two.

He pulled the upper trigger.

_Shwip._

A blue portal opened on the wall. 

Wheatley hesitated, then shifted the gun to point at another open wall and pulled the lower trigger.

_Shwip._

An orange portal also opened.

"Hmm. Unlike the portal gun usually in this chamber, it is immediately capable of shooting both portals. So how about we skip all those training chambers and go straight to me torturing you."

"Oh, _no,_ no thank you-"

She cut him off. "It wasn't a request. Get to the elevator, and you will be taken to your next test."

The intercom then went silent. Wheatley stood around for a bit longer, inspecting the portal gun. He wasn't sure why he was doing it- it was an impulse move, almost instinctive- and he didn't even know what he was looking for. But after a few moments, he felt an odd degree of satisfaction. Maybe humans just liked to inspect things. The lady would sometimes check her portal gun, too, after an especially rough puzzle.

But there was a part of him that told him that wasn't the case. It was like when a word was accidentally deleted from his memory bank (happened a few times, actually); it was there, it existed, he knew how to use it, but it couldn't be accessed because it was tossed in the trash bin. A tip-of-the-tongue situation.

A mystery he wouldn't be able to solve by himself.

Wheatley raised the portal gun and shot the wall beside the exit.

* * *

Sore and hurting all over, Wheatley limped to the next elevator. A couple lasers left their mark on his flesh- nothing too bad, just painful. His legs felt like putty, strained from all the drops he had to make without long fall boots. He was lucky he didn't break any bones; the heights weren't ever high enough to be considered lethal, but they could've certainly caused the end of someone's testing career. Namely his.

"I'm actually impressed," She told him as the elevator zipped downward to the next chamber, otherwise known as a torture session. "Nine chambers without serious injury or a massive failure must seem a huge accomplishment for you. And it truly is. Anyone else would be hard-pressed to get a score as low as yours. But despite your pathetic performance, I'm obliged to give you a reward for effort. There are glasses and long fall boots in the next chamber. As for why they are there... let's just say the last person to have them was not very good at thinking with portals."

Wheatley tried to push down the lump of fear that formed in his throat. 

As usual, the elevator came to a stop. The glass slid open, and he climbed the stairs to the chamber door. It opened, revealing a row of red eyes boring into him, with their little target lasers pointing at his chest. And of course- of course- their terrible, innocent voice.

_"I see you."_

Wheatley did the one thing he could in the situation: scream. 

But like most other situations, screaming wouldn't have saved him. And he would have ended up peppered with bullets- except the turrets were behind a panel of glass.

It took another moment to process that the turrets weren't shooting at him. With the little scraps of dignity he still had, Wheatley brushed the front of his jumpsuit with feigned confidence. "Oh, haha. Bet that was on purpose, to scare me, wasn't it. Well, guess what? Didn't scare me a bit. Not at all." 

"As much as I'd love to argue, I have no need to make myself more stupid. So this'll have to do." He flinched as She replayed his scream. He forgot about the recordings. "And since you seem acquainted with turrets, I see I don't need to explain. Good luck."

Wheatley inched into the chamber, fingers tightly wrapped around the portal gun's handle. The turrets kept their lasers focused on him, their little bullet-shooting-sides extended. With one finger, he tapped the glass. Their gazes flitted to the finger, than back to him.

"You don't reckon that you could, maybe, _not_ shoot at me?" he asked hopefully. "We are fellow robots- ah, were, but the tie still holds, doesn't it?"

_"Target acquired."_

"I... I guess that's a no." He leaned a bit closer to the glass, squinting at the ground under the turrets. "And you just had to be on metal, hadn't you? Well, shouldn't be a problem. I watched her knock turrets just like you over with a cube. Can't be too hard."

It turned out it was hard. What the turrets lacked in intelligence, they made up in range, bullets, and numbers. Most of the room was covered in metal or glass, and it was twisted into maze-like halls. There were only a few portal ledges that were low enough for his ankles to handle, and even fewer that were out of a turret's line of fire. Sometimes, he'd forget there was turret around the corner and nearly get shot. Only once did his luck run out.

Wheatley had seen the boots, and in his haste to grab them, he didn't see the little laser directed at the boots. By the time he realized and dove for cover, his legs took quite a bit of damage. None of the bullets seemed to have lodged themselves into his flesh, but several had pierced the skin, and oh boy did they hurt. It was a wonder he managed to keep a grip on anything, let alone three.

But he had grabbed the boots successfully, and he was now dabbing at wounds with his sleeve. "Ah- oooh, that hurts... Bloody turrets with their bloody bullets... can't just hold it in, can they- it's all in their programming. But completely unnecessary. Not even good at killing, those turrets. They just make holes all over- ow, ow, _ouch,_ that _really_ hurt."

So he continued the cycle of wiping away blood and moaning in pain until the bleeding slowed. He cautiously stood up, bracing himself. But other than some throbbing, his legs seemed alright.

That worry put aside, Wheatley finally had the opportunity to check out the boots. It was fortunate he had the foresight to check the insides of the boots before pulling them on- the glasses She mentioned were in the left boot. Curious, he put the glasses on. The sudden sharpness of all his surroundings startled him, but it reminded him of his vision as a core, so he left them be. He pulled on the boots, toddled around for a bit to get the feel of things, then proceeded to shoot a portal at the ceiling. He dropped behind the accursed turret and kicked it over. 

"That's for shooting me," he said to it, as it flailed on the floor.

Now armed with ability to fall from much higher heights, Wheatley breezed though the rest of the chamber. Much of the ceiling was covered in the white tiles, so turrets proved to be much less of a problem. Before he knew it, he was at the exit.

As he entered the elevator, a smile crossed his face.

Little Wheatley was going to show Her just how well he could go through Her tests. 

And his plan to get out of here was starting to take shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear, Wheatley has the ASHPD from Portal Stories: Mel. It's a great mod/fanmade side game.  
> I do truly recommend playing it, if you hadn't tried it already.
> 
>    
> As for a more general note about controlling ASHPDs, new and old:
> 
> The ASHPD has two triggers, both with fingerguard-thingies (the metal bit around a gun trigger, you know?). The lower trigger is connected to a bar between the fingerguards, which has all the necessary wiring to allow it to function. (Not sure if it's physically possible, but since when did Aperture Science care for what's possible and what's not?)
> 
> The triggers are designed to be pulled by the index and middle fingers. The upper trigger shoots the blue portal. The lower trigger shoots the orange. Pulling both at once triggers the anti-gravity field.


	7. Escape

"Test Chamber Nineteen," Wheatley read from the screen. He tapped the small number indicating how much of the course he completed. "Nineteen out of nineteen, it says. What, you planning on killing me in this last one?"

"As much as I doubt you have the capability to pull off a stunt like she had," She replied coldly, "I won't be making the same mistake twice. It's the end of this testing track. Nothing more."

The door opened up. Excursion funnel, gel dispenser, three angry turrets behind a pane of glass, with the fun, fun bonus of a massive hole in the floor... he knew this level. In fact, they only change seemed to be the replacement of the monitor with cameras.

"I thought you'd like to see one of your old chambers. Since a moron made this level, it should be easy for you to complete. Oh, wait, it's an amalgamate of _my_ chambers. Still, you mashed them together. I'm sure it'll be easy."

She was right; it wouldn't be too hard. He knew the solution because he watched the lady solve it, which was a cheaty sort of way for going at it. But he had a different goal. He needed a way into the maze of machinery and platforms beyond the chambers.

A difficult problem, seeing the panels had no gaps to slip by.

For the time being, he had to solve the test. 

* * *

Note to self: gel is a disgustingly sticky substance that gets stuck to anything and everything it touched. So while it coated the part of the platform he needed to use, it splattered all over him. Except his boots; it slid right off them. 

Wheatley tried to get it off, but his hair proved to be irredeemably matted with the stuff, and it looked like his jumpsuit was going to end up the same way.

"You wouldn't happen to have those cleaning liquids, would you?" he asked halfheartedly.

"Of course, moron. I always have strong acid and bleach at the ready. If you'd like, I can set the sprinklers to-"

"Nope, no, no, no. That-" He gulped. "That won't be necessary."

"Your loss," She replied nonchalantly.

Oh, he _really_ hated Her.

But worst part was over- he just needed to funnel the gel to the turrets. A quick pair of portals redirected the funnel. Wheatley pressed the raised button to let the gel drip out, then jumped into the funnel itself. 

While the funnel floated him (and the nasty gel) over the gaping hole, he couldn't help but look down. It made him dizzy- he _really_ did not like heights- but something far below caught his eye. It seemed to be a catwalk, though from this height, it could have been a gel pipe. But it was clear what it meant.

It was an opportunity.

Yes, it was an insane idea, and yes, he was probably going to get himself killed. But it was also probably his best shot.

Wheatley pointed the gun at one of the other panels, fingers tightening around its handle. The portal gun seemed to be vibrating gently, encouragingly. He closed his eyes, squeezed the trigger-

_Shwip-_

And then he was falling.

* * *

Good news- it _was_ a catwalk.

And more good news- it didn't give out under the force of his fall.

The bad news? She could still see him.

"Don't tell me you're trying to escape. Even the mute lunatic couldn't leave without me allowing her to, and she was far smarter than you."

Wheatley didn't bother to reply. There were more important things at hand, like, say, running. For his life.

"Are you trying to follow in her footsteps?" She continued over the rattling of metal. "Because it won't work. You're nothing like her. Well, no, let me correct that statement. You both are selfish people trying to kill those who only want to help. But she can get her psychotic plan done. You, however, are most likely going to fall to your death."

As if on cue, the catwalk soon gave out to emptiness. He skidded to a stop, barely saving himself from certain doom. Wheatley scanned the area desperately; there were no portal surfaces in sight, either.

"Stay right there. I'll have Orange and Blue collect you. Then you'll go back to testing. The next set's great; lasers, turrets, bombs, rockets... no ways to escape."

He did spot a ledge that looked like he could reach by jumping. He leapt for it, landed, and continued running.

"You really are trying to imitate her. You're even mimicking her silence. And her inability to listen."

_"But you don't listen, do you? Quiet. All the time. Quietly not listening to a word I say. Judging me. Silently. The worst kind."_

He flinched, but kept going. _Don't think about, don't think about it, don't think about it..._

"I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from."

The ledge led to a door. He shoved it open.

"Oh, wait. I do know where it came from. It was _you_. _You_ insulted the one person who wanted to help you. _You_ tried to murder her. And you think _I'm_ the monster." 

His boots clicked against the tiles as he made his way through the maze-like halls. This was the way he needed to go, he knew that much.

"And she's the reason for your escape attempt, isn't she? You want to tell her you're sorry."

He faltered in his steps for a moment.

"But sorry is just a word. A word is not going to make up for all the pain you caused. She'll probably never forgive you. And as much as I hate that psychopath, I wouldn't blame her for killing you on sight."

_She's lying, don't listen to Her..._

"I'm only trying to protect you."

One of the doors he came to was jammed somewhere between open and closed, but not wide enough for him to skip through. A quick pair of portals solved the problem easily enough.

"You don't know what's out there. You don't even remember what it used to be like. You won't survive."

Finally, he came to a flight of stairs. Wheatley climbed it as fast as he could.

"You're heading to the old wings. You can't even get to the surface from there."

At the final landing, a warning sign was plastered to a door. Wheatley read the sign twice, a bubble of hope forming in his chest. He opened the door. Dust rained from the ceiling.

The hall before him couldn't have looked in worse shape.

But it was the link to the place he was looking for.

"What are you doing? Are you still not-"

Her voice faded into nothingness the closer to Old Aperture he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MadasaMoriarty for reading the draft (hasn't changed much since then, to my regret.)


	8. Freedom

"It's ridiculous, the number of bones here." Wheatley shook his foot free from a rib cage. It landed back on the floors with a clatter. "Simply ridiculous. They can't need _that_ many. It's just more stuff to break." He looked at the portal gun. "Don't you think so, luv?"

The portal gun, unsurprisingly, did not give him any opinion.

"Oh, you're being silent, aren't you? Well. You don't need to answer if you don't want to. There's no pressure."

It only then registered in his head that he was talking to an object that, unlike many of the other devices made in Aperture, was inanimate.

Just another thing to check off the Wheatley's-going-mental list.

"I've got more bloody brain damage than her," he muttered.

The portal gun, for the better, did not reply.

It was amazing, though. Despite all the leaves, dust, and of course, bones of some small creature (were there small humans? Did they test on them here?), most of the areas he had walked through was fairly well-preserved. In fact, it didn't look nearly as old as he thought it would. It was more like the areas that got overrun by wild life while She was offline. Except slightly less terrible.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to not link Her up to this area must have been a bloody genius.

Occasionally, he'd pass by a poster or something of the ilk. It was hard to ignore them. They stood out against the dingy walls with bright colors. 

It was always the crazy stuff. Gel. Employee warnings. Recruitment posters. How to deal with Rogue AIs.

"This sentence is false," he read off the poster. "So that's what She tried to pull on me. Not supposed to have an answer- ha! I'd still go with true. Seems right.“

The portal gun didn't comment.

* * *

Did he say it was less terrible than the areas She was running?

Well, he took it back.

To sum up the long time (just how long was it? Days? Weeks?) he spent in the labyrinth of the older wings of Aperture, he only needed two words.

"Bloody _hell_."

Yep. That was it. Bloody hell. It could have been quite literally that, actually. The red smears on the wall could be blood. And there was no doubt in his mind that Aperture was hell. It really couldn't be anything else.

And even if it turned out it was _not_ hell, it was certainly close enough.

Especially with all the trip hazards everywhere. Oh, and random bottomless holes. Or even better yet, a trip hazard _by_ a random bottomless hole. Now _that_  was just plain mean.

The wildlife was also giving way back to the cleanliness of Her chambers. But he still didn't hear Her voice. Maybe it was just so far, She didn't have control in the area. He had heard tales of another creations running certain sections of the facility.

(He failed to notice that the cameras were following his movements.)

But it did mean he had a lot more areas to shoot a portal on. Came in handy. A few times, he nearly fell into an abyss, but barely managed to avoid plummeting to his death thanks to a quick pair of portals.

"Aren't you a reliable fella!" he exclaimed to the gun after a particularly nasty accident. "Maybe I ought to call you that. Reliable. But seeing you're a _bit_ old... How about Old Reliable?"

It felt oddly familiar, those words.

_"Annnd, no response."_

_"Maybe it's just insulted you called it old."_

_"What-? Really, you think that? Oh, God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. You're looking pretty good for your- hey! You're laughing!"_

He didn't realize he had started smiling. Seemed a tad silly, smiling over some memory that might have been his, or maybe not at all. But it gave him a sort of warmth inside. And he liked the feeling.

"Ah, forget about the 'old' part," he told the gun. "You're just reliable."

The gun felt like it was purring in his hands.

* * *

Wheatley eventually came to a room that was pitch black inside. The light of the portal gun dimly lit the floor in front of him, but that was all.

Slowly, he made his way through the dark. Every step was done with extreme caution, and every unstable foothold made him freeze in place.

Caution served him well when he came to another hole. In the dark, it was hard to see it, but he could definitely tell it was empty space. He shuffled around the edge of it, and after some more navigating in the dark, he came to a partially open door. It appeared stuck that way.

He shot a portal through the door's gap, and heard the familiar sound of a portal taking hold. He made another portal on the wall beside him and went though.

A red light faintly outlined the shape of a fence or something of the sort. Feeling around, Wheatley found it was a lift. And there was a button on the lift.

"Can't be any worse than there," he mutterered, then pressed the button.

With rough, jagged movements, the lift descended into hub of sorts. He checked each hall connected to the room; the first was labeled leading to a generator, the next to a turret production line, the third was locked completely, and the last one... 

He squinted at the letters above the hallway. "Ah-eggis. Odd name, I'll admit."

It was possibly the most promising of the four halls, but the row of turrets on either side disturbed him greatly. He edged closer to the hall, seeing if the turrets would notice him.

One of the turrets' laser flitted over to him, and he recoiled. But then it just returned to pointing to the wall, guns still tucked at its side.

Hesitantly, he stepped into the hall. All of the turrets, interested in the movement, briefly turned their pointers to him, then returned to their normal stance.

Odd. But much better than a hall of live turrets.

He didn't waste time in lingering in their sights, and rushed to the door. It unlocked with a hiss.

He pulled back, startled by what he saw inside the room.

A construct hung from the ceiling, threatening but powerless- like Her, when disabled. It also reminded him of the dead spiders that sometimes littered old, musty closets. Once a fine hunter, no doubt- but it fell to the lack of food or the pass of time.

Of course, with it being a robot, the construct didn't starve to death. But it showed signs of being forcefully shut down. Footprints and blood marked its head, and a hatch was wide open on its back. 

It was honestly a bit of a sad sight. He had no interest in seeing it up and running, and potentially trying to kill him (it just seemed to be a thing in Aperture's robots, murderous intent), but it was still sad.

"Wonder who shut it down," he said to the portal gun. As expected, the gun made no speculations.

There were two other doors in the room.

The right one led to a room partially flooded with water that glittered eerily. Wheatley did not fancy stepping it that.

On the left, the room looked much more promising. Despite the wrecked messes of some sort of server, there were plenty of machinery that remained untouched. Wheatley searched all their control panels for a button, or something of the sort, to call an elevator.

Finally, in one of the upper rooms, he found one labeled "Emergency Manual Elevator Override." There was also a ridiculous amount of fine print beneath the label.

Seemed promising.

He pressed the button.

_"Elevator called. Please note that when called with this button, the rider will immediately be sent to the surface, regardless of what is in their possession."_

Wheatley stepped back from the panel, reveling in his minor success. Then-

_"I see ya."_

The voice was rasping, unfamiliar. Kind of like a crap turret. He twisted a bit around to look at it, and it indeed looked a bit like one, too. So that was exactly what he assumed it to be. A crap turret, that somehow managed to get into this wing.

That turned out to be a complete mistake, as now his left shoulder- and parts of his abdomen- were bleeding rather profusely. He ducked behind one of the wrecked servers, out of the turret's line of sight.

_"_ _Hey, come here! I just want to shoot y- I mean, hug you. To death."_

Wheatley gingerly touched one of the bullet wounds and winced.

That thing did not shoot like a normal turret.

He slowly inched to, then down, the staircase, careful to not expose any part of him to the rough-voiced turret.

Once he was fairly sure it couldn't see him anymore, Wheatley began limping to the elevator. One hand was pressed against the worst of the bleeding, the other still clung to the portal gun. 

He stepped inside the elevator. The glass doors slid shut behind him, and it made its ascent to the surface.

He leaned against the glass, feeling a bit woozy. 

It did not immediately register to him the elevator had stopped. But once he did, he noted the door, which had a hatch, was thankfully partially open. He doubted he currently had the strength to twist the hatch right now.

He shoved the door open. While there was some light streamed through the crack between the door and the frame, it did not prepare him at all for the onslaught of sunlight that promptly bombarded his eyes.

Wheatley blinked rapidly, trying not to get his retinas burned out, and felt about a dozen times more nauseous. When he finally adjusted to the brightness, he saw a woman tugging a wagon full of scrap metal.

For a moment, his possibly-damaged-and-delusional brain thought she was the lady. Wheatley then realized she had much paler skin than the lady he knew, and reddish hair. 

She hadn't noticed him yet, being turned away from him

Wheatley had no idea what humans did, nor whether or not they'd be willing to help out an injured person. But he was wounded rather badly, and there was little else he could do.

"Hullo!" he called out, before breaking into a coughing fit. Ooh, was that blood he just spat out? That couldn't be a good sign.

The woman was startled, whirling around with something in her hands. He wasn't sure what it was, but she was definitely pointing it at him. And people pointing things at you were generally not good.

Still, he continued hopefully. "Don't suppose... you have a technician... with you? Because, uh... I think I'm bleeding... a... _bit_ much..." He tried to take a step towards the woman, but his boot got caught on something and sent him sprawling across the rubble. The portal gun tumbled out of his grasp. His vision blurred. Everything hurt.

"What the _hell_?" someone yelped. Probably the woman, but he wasn't sure. "Is that-"

He blacked out before he could hear the woman finish.


	9. Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler and stuff you technically already know, but it's... something

Upon waking up after some unknown amount of time out of commission, Wheatley panicked. Wasn't it bad enough to wake in some place he didn't recognize? But no, he still felt the throbbing pain from the shots, and several important objects were missing. But most distressing of all, was that he could make out some of his surroundings despite his blurred vision.  
  
It shouldn't have been possible- it _couldn't_ have been possible. Yet... where else but There would have those unnaturally clean white walls?  
  
With no glasses, and no Reliable (and judging from how his feet felt, no boots either), he was helpless.  
  
He closed his eyes again and let out a low moan of mingled pain and distress. Something, maybe as a response to his cry, brushed against his forehead. But it didn't feel like a machine- not that any of the constructs would've cared enough to do anything of the sort. 

If anything, it felt like a... a hand?  
  
His eyes flew back open. A blurred shape of a tilted head hung above him. That was a relief; there weren't any humans down There.  
  
Still... the environment wasn't really reassuring.  
  
"Don't suppose you could, ah... tell me where I am?" he tried.  
  
The person didn't answer. Instead, they pushed something towards his face. Wheatley was about to try batting it away- did he _ask_ for something vaguely pokey shoved near his head?- but he couldn't move his arm enough to do so. After another moment, he realized those were his glasses.  
  
"Oh! Er... Thanks, I s'pose." He blinked at the person. Now that he could see them properly- well, her, he guessed- she looked nice enough, like a kindly old lady. But she also had this tired look, like someone who had gone through hard times they couldn't forget.  
  
(How he knew what _that_ looked like was beyond him.)  
  
Then, with a sickening sort of sudden dread, he realized that she seemed to be wearing a lab coat. It didn't have the Aperture logo stamped on it, at least. Not that any of those scientists survived Her. But there was some sort of symbol on her chest and he wasn't liking it.  
  
"You're not a scientist... a-are you?"  
  
The woman shook her head.  
  
Wheatley swallowed down the lump in his throat. "That's, ah, really good, actually. Never liked scientists much. Loads of bad  experiences with them and all that. They're supposed to... well,  they're supposed to forward something. Science, that's what they say. But all they ever do is test and test and test, and occasionally kill off the test subject... Ridiculous, if you ask me."  
  
She nodded in agreement.  
  
"Do you- do you just have nothing to say? Not that I mean you, uh, need to. It's just nice to have a conversation partner that pitches in their own ideas now and again. No, wait, let me fix that. A conversation partner that doesn't insult you every five seconds, now that's nice."  
  
The woman grimaced. With a small shake of her head, she fished something out of a pocket, before coming up with a rather worn slip of paper and holding it up for Wheatley to see.  
  
_I can't speak,_ it read.  
  
"Oh." Just his luck. Another mute. But there had been someone else, wasn't there...? Ugh, why couldn't he quite remember-  
  
The redhead with the wagon.  
  
Maybe she was here too.  
  
"There wouldn't happen to be someone here who, ah, could speak?"  
  
For a moment, she seemed to consider him, then nodded. After giving him what may have been a quick check-up, the woman left the room. She wasn't even gone for a minute before she came back with a companion. And though he didn't even know her, but the jubilation he felt wasn't something he could put to words.  
  
"So it was you!" he exclaimed. "You helped me."  
  
The redhead broke into a smile. "Well, either it was me or the turkeys, and there's only one answer that would make sense. How are you feeling?"  
  
Wheatley made an attempt to sit up. Pain shot through his body, and with gritted teeth, he eased himself back down. "Could be- ow- worse."

"With all the blood you lost on the trip here? Definitely." She sat at the foot of the bed, earning herself a glare from the older lady. The redhead appeared to ignore it. "You really are a lucky guy. I think I'm the only one who visits that area, and it's only for my monthly salvaging."

She cast a glance at the elder woman, who was still glowering at her. "Plus, Ms. Barron's among the best medics in the area. I'm not sure if there's anyone else who could patch up gunshot wounds as bad as, well, that." With her last word, she vaguely flapped one hand at his abdomen. "You don't seen much of that these days."

"Yeah... Don't suppose you have turrets up here."

The room fell into an uncanny silence. The redhead's jocose manner slipped away, and the old lady looked rather grim. That made no sense; turrets were kept within the facility. They couldn't have known about the bullet-shooting bots. Unless that stupid boogeyman of a rival company stole that idea too. In that case, they may very well know.

But there was something else about them that made him feel it wasn't the case.

The redhead turned to face the elder woman. "Would you mind if I could... talk to him in private?"

Without a sound, Ms. Barron nodded and left the room, closing the door with a click.

A few seconds passed without anything happening. Then, finally, the redhead said, "There are turrets up here, you know, just not the ones you're familiar with. Not nearly as easy to topple over, either."

He could practically hear the whirring of a processor fan from sheer shock. Which was ridiculous- humans didn't have cooling fans in them. "How'd you know about them?"

"I've been shot by them. Not as badly as you, of course, but they were certainly painful." She put on a smile, but it was strained. "But a portal gun makes them all the easier to deal with, right?"

The information was overwhelming. Still trying to process the fact she must have been some sort of survivor of Aperture, he stuttered out, "Could you repeat that? I- I swore you said 'portal gun.'" Which shouldn't be possible. Even if she was down there, how could she have known? There couldn't have been that many portal guns. Four was too much as it was.

But she continued, unfazed. "Yes I did. Portal gun. Orange-yellow device? Warps the fabric of reality or something to link two distant spots together. I have no idea how it works, and it may as well be black magic, but that doesn't matter. You carried one out of that place- Aperture. And the funny thing is, I knew that particular portal gun. I thought it would have been incinerated, but lo and behold, you had it."

Incinerated, incinerated... why did this statement seem so familiar? "Why'd you reckon that?"

"I put it in there myself, before I left."

Then it clicked.

_"I found a prototype in an old facility incinerator."_

That's what She told him, when he got Reliable. He hadn't even thought about who had put it in there, but now it made sense. 

The blood.

The footprints.

The deactivated construct.

"It was _you_!"

The redhead blinked. "Excuse me?"

"That big spider-y thing- what'd they call it- Ah-eggis? You shut it down, didn't you?"

"AEGIS," she corrected. "Like the mythical shield.  But yes, I had, but I can't take all the credit. There was a... a friend. And the portal gun. Which you somehow brought out of there, and I currently have stowed in a box so Ms. Barron wouldn't ask."

Oh. So that's where it was now. Wheatley's fingers twitched, as if  they longed to have Reliable in their grip again. He tried to ignore it. "Not many people down there to call a friend, if I'm quite honest with you. Unless you're into skeletons."

"Haha, no. But there was one fellow. He was... something else. You didn't happen to see him down there, did you?"

She looked so hopeful, he was tempted to lie. But the truth spilt out of his mouth before he could think of something else to say. "No, I'm afraid all the other humans down there are rather... dead. Especially the ones She got her hands on- metaphorical hands, I mean. Most robots do lack appendages with... digits."

"No, no, he's a-" She cut herself short, confusion and horror crossing her face. "Her? As in... GLaDOS? She's online?"

She used Her name. _She used Her name._ No one was supposed to do that! To say Her name, or even _think_ it- it was a death sentence. She _knew_ when Her name was brought up.

A shiver ran down his spine. It was stupid, really, but he couldn't help but feel She knew about this mention of Her.

But how could She?

His emotions must have shown; the redhead was now staring at him curiously. "You alright?"

Wheatley tried to ignore the sickening feeling settling in his stomach. "Yeah. It's just.. Her name's... Her name's  _taboo._ Especially if She's online. Which She is. But I swear it wasn't my fault." No, that was a complete lie. "It... it was an accident." Slightly better, but he still felt guilty. Not wanting to linger on that, he tried veering the subject elsewhere. "But there's no way you could've met Her... at least, not while I was around. And She was offline until... recently... so, how'd you-"

"-know Her name?" The woman sighed. "The friend said it. See, while I was trying to work a way up and out of that place, AEGIS came along and pinned me- and my friend- as threats. It wanted to neutralize us in toxic goo."

Wheatley blinked. Another poisonous-method-of-murder user. 

Glad to have gone through when it wasn't on.

The redhead continued. "We got it off, eventually. But we weren't the only threats it registered. One of them was... Her. In preventing our own deaths, we just gave a monster a chance to get back in power." She paused, tugging at a loose lock of hair. "And my friend, he was terrified. He told me to get out as soon as possible. If She was half as bad as I thought She was, She would have been a terror. At least a  person like me would have had death as an eventual release. What could a mechanical sphere- a- a core- have to save him?"

Being shot by those bullets felt like a tap in comparison to the sudden punch in the gut those words were.

The redhead- if she was so concerned about this core... if she was telling everything... A core had helped her, got her out to safety...

And didn't betray her when she most needed it.

So lost in this feeling of guilt and "I was a monster," Wheatley didn't recognize the fact the redhead was gripping his shoulders until her nails were starting to dig into his skin. He recoiled, and she gave him an extra-concerned-looking... look. "Hey- hey, you're not looking too good- do I need to get Ms. Barron?"

He shook his head to try clearing it, but a mish-mash of various words still echoed in his head, some from her, some from Her. "N-no... I just..." Wheatley swallowed. "Just had a thought."

"You look like you might faint. Are you sure-?"

"Yes." Ouch, that came out sharper than he wanted. "Nevermind that, I'm fine. So, uh..." He racked his brain for a topic change. "So you never did meet Her?"

"No."

"That's really good, you would have hated Her, and She would've hated you..." Then an actual question crossed his mind. "But uh... why'd you want to get out? Before you knew about the spider, I mean."

"Oh, that's easy. I wanted to go back to the place I called home." She shook her head with a half-laugh, half-sigh. "But things changed while I was gone, and not just technology and attitudes. Something happened down in the southwest, and it affected the rest of the world. Aliens came to Earth. Then there was an invasion. Colonization. there were people who resisted, of course, but the invaders... the- the Combines..."  She wasn't looking at him anymore; if anything, she looked like she was gazing into empty space. "Well, I'm just glad I arrived after humanity finally won. But there's so many remnants, so much... destruction. It's going to take a long time to rebuild."

She was quiet for another moment, then added, "And Ms. Barron, she had to live through all of that. And it's just another reason I respect her." Then, rather abruptly, she sat straight, meeting his eyes again. "But it was silly of me to go on about all that without even introducing myself. I'm Mel."

She held out a hand.

He hesitated for a moment, before clasping her hand with his own. "Wheatley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HECK YEAH
> 
> THE REWRITE OF CHAPTER 9 (and general motivation haha) FINALLY GRACED ME WITH AN APPEARANCE!
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with me?
> 
> ...oh, who's this lady, you ask? She's just a friend's OC. No worries, I asked for permission to use Ms. Barron here. <3


	10. Little Note

Chapters past this point were either former chapters, crackish-idea-based drabbles, or some other form of writing.

Do not consider them, at all, relevant.


	11. Former Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to rewrite this chapter!  
> It's not quite up to my standard, and, well, now that I'm reading it over again, it seems a little too convenient.
> 
> So hold on to your pants, the story's going to shift course.  
> (For record's purpose, I will keep this chapter at the back of this fic. Too much writing to just delete. XD)
> 
> So enjoy what was the original chapter 9. <3
> 
> ALSO if you'd like to beta read my drafts for the new chapter nine, please send me a message via Tumblr or Fanfiction. Both links are in my Profile.

When he woke up, his initial thought was that She somehow got him back inside. Where else would have all those sterile white walls? _And_ a bed?

So he panicked. 

Immediately someone was holding him down, keeping him from flailing. "Hey, calm down! You're only going to open your wounds. You nearly bled out earlier, and you definitely do not need a repeat."

That was definitely not Her voice. Or the voice of any construct in Aperture. Not that any of them would have cared.

Wheatley blinked a few times, trying to clear the excessive blurriness. The person restraining him was a woman, her red hair pulled back into a bun. She looked a bit older than the lady was- he didn't know how he knew that- but she had a friendly face. And though he didn't know her, he did recognize her.

"Oh- it's you! The lady tugging that wagon around," he said, relaxing.

"Yep. And _you're_ damn lucky I knew where to find a hospital. There's not many still running." She helped him sit up. The sheet that more or less covered him slid down to jump around his waist. Cold air prickled his skin and he shivered.

Glancing down, he realized a likely reason to why he felt so chilled: he was no longer wearing his jumpsuit. Or anything else, really. 

"Ah..." He looked at the woman. "You wouldn't happen to know where my jumpsuit is? Because I think I _may_ have lost it- no idea how, by the way- and I've got nothing else on. Except some bandages. And this sheet." He shivered again, the chill seeping deeper into his flesh. "Oh, and it's a bit cold, without them."

"The doctors had to take it off to treat your wounds," the redhead replied. "Don't know what they did with it, but they brought in some normal clothing this morning. It's a box under the bed- hey! I'm still in the room!"

Wheatley sheepishly sunk back into the bed. "Sorry, just wanted to get warmed up."

The woman rolled her eyes, and knelt beside the bed, head dipping lower as she reached under. She then pulled out a box and plopped it on his lap. "There's a sweater in there that ought to work. You can get properly dressed later, while I'm setting up my scooter. But first, I wanted to ask you a few things."

"Like what?" He tugged the sweater free of the other clothing and began his attempt to pull it on.

"Like why you had a portal gun."

Wheatley froze, sweater halfway on. "Excuse me?"

"The portal gun," she repeated. "Orange device, connects two faraway spots together by warping space and time or something. You carried it out of that place- Aperture- and I have no idea how. And I know that portal gun- it should have been incinerated. I put it in there myself."

"You did what?" His mind was reeling. The woman knew about the portal guns, and was even in Aperture at some point. And tossed a portal gun into an incinerator- who would do that?

...but She _did_ say She found his portal gun in an old facility incinerator.

And there was the blood...

The footprints...

The construct with the hatch wide open.

It suddenly clicked.

" _You_ shut down the big spidery thing down there?" he exclaimed. "That thing- Ah-eggis-"

"AEGIS," she corrected. "And I wasn't alone in my work. There was a- a friend... and the portal gun. Which you somehow had went you staggered out of there."

"Oh- so that's why- you wanted me to- oh. It's pretty simple, actually. She fished it out of an incinerator. Said nothing in the old facility was hot enough to melt even an old portal gun. Then She made me test with it."

"She...? Would that be GLaDOS?"

The mere mention of Her name sent a shudder down his spine. "Ye-es, but She's only known as _Her_ , if you know what I mean. No one would _dare_ mention Her name. It's kind of a... taboo thing. She's the queen of the facility, the _madre grande_. But for the most part, "

"I see." The woman looked thoughtful.

"But She wasn't online until rather recently, actually. I swear it wasn't my fault." Who was he kidding? The lady wasn't the one to turn on the lift. Or have the inability to hack. "Actually, scratch that, it was _kind of_ my fault. But there's no way you could've met Her. So how-"

The woman sighed. "AEGIS pinned me and my friend as threats to the facility, and attempted to flood the place with toxic goo. I wouldn't have thought about it much if it hadn't also mentioned a third target. So while I was inside it, my friend had me check the list of targets." He could see her tensing up. "He sounded so horrified... while we prevented our own deaths, we just gave a monster a chance to reclaim power. He wanted me out of there as soon as possible... But he couldn't join me."

She trailed off, and he thought she was done. But then she quietly added, "I hope he's still alright."

"He's probably dead, especially if She got Her hands on him. Her track record with humans is less than good at best."

"No, no, you don't get it. He's not human. He's a- a maintenance core, I think that's what he said. A mechanical sphere."

His insides felt like they iced over.

A core helped her get out.

A _core_.

One that didn't betray her, or try to kill her, or poison her.

Wheatley swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

"You alright there?"

"Yes! Never been better." What a blatant lie. He decided to try steering the topic into a different direction. "It's all just mad, if you know what I mean. There's been so many changes... and you talk a lot more than the last person I met. Not that I mean you talk too much. It's just that she didn't say _anything_! Can't blame her, though; she was mute, possibly brain damaged."

"Mute, huh?" The woman smiled wanly. Her hand rubbed the front of her neck. "I couldn't speak until about six months ago, after I went through a surgery and then therapy. It was a rough time. But it was so good to hear my own voice again, to be able to say my own name..." She paused. "Speaking of which, I never got around to introducing myself. I'm Mel."

"Um. That's a... very nice name. Simple. Is it short for something?"

"Melanie, but only my roommate calls me that. And your name is?"

He ignored the nagging voice in his head screeching _M_ _oron_. "Oh. Wheatley. That's my name, Wheatley. Can we get out of here now?"

* * *

He regretted asking that.

Getting dressed was annoyingly difficult. 

Walking out of the building was painful (at least the one person manning the front desk wished him a good day).

But riding at high speeds in a cart meant for something considerably smaller riders, now that was the worst. 

"Is this the wagon you were tugging around before? And are you sure I can fit it that?" he had asked Mel.

"One: no. That was a wagon. This is a cart. The wagon gets collapsed and put into the cart. Two: I stuffed your unconscious body in it before without too much issue." She snapped on a pair of googles and tossed another pair at him. "You'll be fine. Can't drive too fast, though, seeing you're not supposed to be stressed. But tell me if you see anything that looks vaguely like a light-roasted turkey. Those things are nasty, and since I can't shoot while driving, I'll have to speed the hell out of there."

The turkey comment should've warned him that she was more than a little off. It really should've. And bonus terrible-ness points for having to hold on a box containing the long-fall boots _and_ the portal gun.

A thousand bumps into the ride, Wheatley's insides felt like they wanted to make an appearance. 

"Hey, Mel! I don't think- I'm feeling too-" A jolt made his mouth snap shut, nearly biting his tongue in two.

"Shut up and don't hurl!" 

Bloody great advice right there.

The trip felt like it took eons- eons of new sensations, all of them unpleasant. When the scooter came to a halt in front of a building, he listed every deity he could think of and silently thanked them all.

The building appeared to be a fairly simple house, not very big, but decent enough. Wheatley extracted himself from the cart and followed Mel to the doorstep. The woman was patting her pockets with an increasingly irritated expression, before sighing.

"Crap. Forgot the house keys again." Mel rapped sharply against the door. "Chell!"

"Bless you."

"What? No, that's my roommate's name. That's why she calls me Melanie." She knocked again, louder. "Chell!"

From within the building, there was a thump, followed by a muffled swear. A few moments later, a woman opened the door, looking a bit drowsy. The state of her clothes and hair further supported the assumption. Though, upon seeing Mel, she came to a sudden alertness.

He thought she looked oddly familiar. He wasn't sure why that was the case; he was _fairly_ sure he never saw her before. And she seemed to reciprocate the feeling, too. After staring at him with a sort of confused and wary expression, she shot Mel a quizzical look.

Mel shrugged. "Found him bleeding out during my excursion run." She nudged him. "Say hi."

"Er, right. Hullo! You must be Mel's roommate!"

The woman suddenly looked as if someone just slapped her. He had no idea why, or how he had already messed up (he must've), but her expression said all. Wheatley screwed up. 

So he did his best to rectify the situation.

"You seem a bit grouchy- not that I blame you. Probably woke you up with our knocking. That was definitely _not_ the intention... I mean- you had to wake up, to open the door- but, er... we didn't mean to- ah, bloody hell, I messed up. Of course stupid old Wheatley would screw... uh..."

He trailed off, seeing the silent fury light her blue-gray eyes. The bitter mix of hurt and betrayal with pure rage- he knew that expression all too well, even if only one person ever gave him that look before. And now that he thought about it...

He realized why she looked familiar.

"It's _you_." 

They said the same words simultaneously, his voice laced with surprise, the lady's with pure malice. If he thought She had poison poured in every word She said, this was far more deadly- and, it was made slightly worse, since this was the first time he ever heard her speak.

The silence that followed was thicker and colder than a steel beam left in cryo.

"Well," Mel finally interrupted. "Are either of you willing to bring me up to speed on your apparent bitter history?"

* * *

After the due explanation, a few shocked exclamations ("He was a _core?!_ "), followed by a rather heated argument, Mel managed to convince the lady to let him stay, at least for the time being.

The lady had slunk away to a little nook to read, and occasionally looking up from her book to glare at him malevolently. Wheatley didn't bother to come near her. She made no move to attack him, but the hostile silence was more than enough to deter him.

And that's how it was for a while. He avoided the lady, she avoided him. Wheatley mostly stuck nearby Mel, who took it upon herself to show him some missed details of being a human. 

But one morning, maybe couple weeks later, she wasn't in the house. He found a pink note on the table, and picked it up.

 _"Went out for errands. Might be a while. Don't kill each other while I'm gone, and please don't get killed,"_ it read, followed by Mel's signature and a little squiggle of a heart.

"So it's just me and her," he mused. "Just like old times."

"I'm going to hope it doesn't repeat."

Wheatley yelped in surprise, dropping the note. The lady picked it back up. She didn't look angry, or even annoyed. It was more of the emotionless mask she had usually worn back there.

It unnerved him a bit.

After giving the note a cursory glance, she put it back on the table. "I wouldn't kill you. I hate you, but you're not worth the effort. Though if you dare put a toe out of line, or do anything that puts Melanie in danger, I'll make you wish you died back there."

With that cheery note, she went to the door and unlocked it.

"What- where're you doing?"

"Going out. I'm not going to be gone long, if that's what you're thinking."

She turned the knob. He suddenly remembered there was something he wanted to say to her.

"Wait, lady."

The lady paused. The door was halfway open, her hand still on the knob. She looked apprehensive, but she also wasn't leaving. Wheatley took it as a sign to continue.

"I- I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything." He inhaled, preparing to go into the long speech that was flooding his head now, but she interrupted him.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it," she said flatly. "If you actually thought it would, you really _are_ a moron."

"I am _not_ a _moron_!" he automatically snapped, before realizing his mistake. "Lady- Chell- please, I-"

"If you really are sorry, just  _prove it_." With that, she turned away and left, slamming the door behind her.

As he stared at the door with a fallen heart, he wondered why he felt like he went through the scenario before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of the writing of this note, this story got 154 hits, 22 kudos, and 4 bookmarks. So thanks for sticking around for this long, and hope you'll still be there when the next chapter comes out.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again to MadasaMoriarty for beta-reading my draft.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try working on this fanfic as often as I can, so bear with me. <3
> 
> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


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